The War
by themarchingoboe
Summary: A series of short stories from the same battle. Constructive criticism only, please.
1. The Warrior

Quick Author's Note: This story (or series of stories rather) came to me after a test in Latin. I would like constructive criticism only please. And yes, I did mean for it to be all in one paragraph. It's meant to be sort of stream of conciousness. If you see something that is wrong or awkward please tell me, so I can fix it. Hope you enjoy!

And so it begins. Who knows who shot the first arrow? It does not matter. It only takes one arrow to start a battle. Now I begin to fight, destroying one evil being at a time. Orc after Orc falls, but more take their place. My people too, fall. Even the elves, their fair faces contorted with pain, stumble. But still I fight on. Voices reverberate in my head. What am I fighting for? Why am I here? I fight for the pain that has been inflicted on my people, I reply. I fight for the murdered children, the destroyed lives. And then, suddenly, it is not us and them. It is me, alone. Fighting not for a better life or to protect the innocent, just fighting to stay alive. A wildness throbs in my veins, turning me into a monster, terrible to behold. But my strength and will begin to falter. There is no hope under this black sky. My lord and captain suddenly appears beside me, fighting hard. He does not notice the Orc that approaches him from behind. I turn, and with one stroke save him. He is alive for one more second, one more step. He favors me with a brief smile and turns back to the Orc that threatens him. It is in that smile, the flash of thanks, that my strength is renewed. Again, my perspective shifts. I am united with the others around me. Then, I am above the field, watching the battle from afar. Like some impartial judge I note the losses, both ours and theirs. Sensing the Orc behind me, I swing – too late. I feel the sword pierce deep, feel it searching for the light inside me. My strength is slowly ebbing. I fall to my knees, since I no longer have the strength to stand. Pictures flash before my dimming eyes. A mother hugging her son. A tree standing, branches spread wide. The sun dawning. A child laughing. Only here, at the end do I understand. Only now do I see that my dying has saved another's life. Only now, only now.


	2. The Commander

Here I stand, my heart in my throat. Every step is a step closer to a possible death. My men watch me closely. I must show no weakness, or they will waver. They are searching for a reason to stop, a reason to turn back. I look at these men, wondering who I will see again. Will I even last the night? I must not think of that. Do you know how hard it is to lead an army? I feel responsible for each man's life. I imagine the tears of their children. I hear the wails of their mothers and wives. But now is not a time to think. Battle approaches. The evil Orcs are in sight now, a grey mass under a black sky. The men become grim, pitiless. Sword buckles are checked, armor is tightened. There is no calm before the storm. The anxiety builds, a pressure that echoes with Orc shouts. And then, an arrow is loosened, and we are fighting. Now the Orcs are close, close enough for us to see their greedy faces full of hate. The front line braces themselves as the wave breaks. Then the screams start. Screams of pain, of hatred, of warning. I can think of nothing but this fight. I swing my sword again and again. I swing it at evil faces, at slitted eyes. I focus on my inner strength, the strength that has not failed me yet. One Orc approaches, no, two. I raise my arm to block the fell sword, and then quickly turn. My sword bites Orc flesh. I can not turn fast enough to kill the Orc behind me, but I try anyway. I am greeted by the sight of a warrior with a bloodied Orc at his feet. A quick smile, a silent thank you, and I turn to the Orc in front of me. Will this battle never end? I stumble, a sword flashes. I duck, I squirm away, rewarded with a cut shoulder instead of a pierced heart. Luck is with me tonight. As I look around I notice many who have not been as lucky. It is hard to watch a man take his last breath, but it is sheer torture to watch the Elves die. These beings were meant to live forever. I look at them, their proud, wise eyes dimmed and extinguished, and wonder why. Why must we fight? Because, I answer the silent voices. If we don't, who will? Another Orc engages me, and I fight on, doing my part to destroy evil.


End file.
